Sabotage!

Like most Americans I am a part of the "Instant Gratification Society". The difference between the majority of the sufferers and myself is that I don't desire material things. My desires are of a personal nature, ones that you can't purchase or obtain easily. Therein lies my constant internal struggle: Longing for changes which ultimately I have no control over. I also have a tendency for self sabotage when I conclude that my goals cannot realistically be met. Not that I'm incapable of realistic goals, in fact the bulk of my goals are obtainable and I work diligently to accomplish them. 


When something I want becomes unobtainable, my brain processes it through my psychological immune system. My reaction usually depends on how emotionally invested I am with said subject. Regardless of it's it's realistic or not, I can either be reasonable or say, "Screw it. I don't want it anymore."

The latter process is actually known as "adaptive preference formation" and it's what we do as humans to justify failures and reduce cognitive dissonance. Dan Gilbert says that, "Our 'psychological immune system' lets us feel truly happy even when things don’t go as planned," but I completely disagree. Never once after experiencing dissonance reduction have I ever felt content. I'm usually muddled with resentment and it forces me to distance myself from the stimulus.

Affective forecasting is a terrible beast, and many cultures play off of these often hopeful expectations. You see it in Disney movies, leprechauns, and wishes given to burning balls of light. People base many decisions on affective forecasts, predictions about their emotional reactions to future events. They often display an impact bias, overestimating the intensity and duration of their emotional reactions to such events. One cause of the impact bias is focalism, the tendency to underestimate the extent to which other events will influence our thoughts and feelings(Timothy D. Wilson 2005).

This is why you get let down on your Birthday, Anniversary, or Valentines Day. Something didn't meet your expectations.  This is why I get disappointed, and this is why I won't approach things without a hazmat suit afterwards. So to hell with sabotage. You can call it my emotional conditioning.

Why You Should Write | Why I Don't Believe In Therapy.

I've spent countless hours with therapists, psychologists, and psychiatrists, but never once have any of the visits yielded noticeable results. The medication they provided helped, but talking and "working through my problems" just left me embarrassed, angry, or profusely depressed. Even though my mind works rationally and I'm consumed by science I remained confused by the outcome. I never understood how psychology, a science I continue to study, could fail me. What was I doing wrong?

In several studies, participants who have experienced a traumatic event have been encouraged to spend just a few minutes each day writing in a diary-type account of their deepest thoughts and feelings about it. The results revealed a remarkable boost in their psychological and physical well-being, including a reduction in health problems and an increase in self-esteem and happiness.

So why would talking about a traumatic experience have almost no effect but writing about it yield such significant benefits? From a psychological perspective, talking and writing are very different. Talking can often be somewhat unstructured, disorganized, even chaotic. In contrast, writing encourages the creation of a story line and structure that help people make sense of what has happened and work towards a solution. In short, talking can add to a sense of confusion, but writing provides a more systematic, solution-based approach (Jeff Atwood 2011).

Writing is my favorite hobby besides photography. While some of my pieces may disturb some readers it is extraordinarily therapeutic for me. Through prose I can shed some of that pulsating rage that's coursing through my veins. I have this inability to express myself to those I'm close to, but I'm able to cryptically bleed on paper for complete strangers. I enjoy seeing how many people can decipher my messages(very few do), and if I help someone along the way the reward is that much sweeter.

The Letter S.

Saturday brings stalking superannuated consorts,
scheming to subject and extort.
They creep into a dreaming lover's ear,
smiting love as a spiteful new sport.

As quickly as they surface they abort,
leaving her stark and without support.
In the dark she clings to the lasting souvenir;
scathed by the past and a future cut short.

Help.

She was extending a hand that I didn't know how to take, so I broke its fingers with my silence. She said, "You don't want to talk to me, do you?" I took my daybook out of my knapsack and found the next blank page, the second to last. "I don't speak," I wrote. "I'm sorry." She looked at the piece of paper, then at me, then back at the piece of paper. She covered her eyes with her hands and cried, tears seeped between her fingers, she cried and cried and cried. There weren't any napkins nearby, so I ripped the page from the book - "I don't speak. I'm sorry" - and used it to dry her cheeks. My explanation and apology ran down her face like mascara, she took my pen from me and wrote on the next blank page of my daybook, the final one:

"Please marry me"

I flipped back and pointed at: "Ha ha ha!" She flipped forward and pointed at: "Please marry me." I flipped back and pointed at: "Thank you, but I'm about to burst." She flipped forward and pointed at: "Please marry me." I flipped back and pointed at: "I'm not sure, but it's late." She flipped forward and pointed at: "Please marry me", and this time put her finger on "Please", as if to hold down the page and end the conversation, or as if she were trying to push through the word, and into what she was trying to say. I thought about life, about my life, the embarrassments, the little coincidences, the shadows of alarm clocks on bedside tables. I thought about my small victories and everything I'd seen destroyed. I'd swum through mink coats on my parents' bed while they hosted downstairs. I'd lost the only person with whom I could have spent my only life, I'd left behind a thousand tonnes of marble from which I could have released sculptures, I could have released myself from the marble of myself. I'd experienced joy, but not nearly enough, could there be enough? The end of suffering does not justify the suffering, and so there is no end to suffering. What a mess I am, I thought. What a fool, how foolish and narrow, how worthless, how pinched and pathetic, how helpless in the universe. None of my pets knows their own name. What kind of person am I? I flipped back, one page at a time:

Help.

-Jon Foer

Instinct and evolutionary adaptations.

Last night I was thinking about the difference between the things we desire and what we require and I wanted to share this. Mostly to ease a mind or two about situational responses. While this should be common knowledge, I believe most of us tend to forget and get lost in what we desire and that could harm your relationships. Here is your refresher course.

Emotions are adaptations whose purpose is to solve basic ecological problems facing organisms (Darwin 1872). A want or need can be accurately identified by whether or not your emotional response was conscious or unconscious. If I'm not starving I will want something to eat, say a chocolate chip cookie. Wants are always a conscious decision, often fueled by emotions and the desire to feel better in some way. Without my body physically telling me so I decided that a cookie was a good idea, so since it was a conscious decision it becomes a want.

There aren't many things we need, and everything we need is based on survival and is a primal instinct--shelter, clothing, health care, social interaction, and consumption. If you're seriously injured your body goes into an acute stress response(fight or flight) and your emotional response isn't a cognitive one. You fear, you need safety/assistance, and you instinctively need these things.

I'll give another interesting example. If biologically speaking all of your needs must be satisfied first before you can even consider wanting something doesn't that mean reproduction qualifies as a want not a need? We instinctively require pair bonding and social interaction so that certifies it as a need, but mating and reproduction require cognitive thought and the desire often increases and decreases in time.

I just fucked your Saturday up. What are you going to do about it?

Here I am.

Sometimes I am unsure of what is worse—the notion of sadness or the fact that others know you are sad. When I was younger I was instructed to feel less, and that sadness was weakness. I didn’t like being exposed so I learned to restrain myself. I spent most of my life trying to feel less and less regardless of how pleasant or unpleasant. I constructed elaborate walls trying to prove how tough I was, and guarding me from other people. In the end you are the only one who has caught a glimpse behind my barrier without running. I bury these things inside me so you don’t have to hurt, so instead I force myself to live with it.

We all have imperfections but they are always amplified in your loneliest hour. In this hour I’ve realized how deeply my ruse can cut. It makes me believe that I am not a good person and I’m not deserving of good things. The reality is I’ve really never done anything to deserve goodness. I've never been a good daughter, a good friend, a good lover, or a good wife. There just has to be something genetically that I lack.

The shame that comes from the absence of humility can overpower you. Like the moon my egotism waxes and wanes, and once it fades I’m left with this shadow of guilt. Guilty for not being selfless. Guilty for having pride in the first place. Guilty for feeling anything ever.

I will dispose some wisdom on you from a conclusion I've drawn tonight. No matter how bad you think things are there is nothing worse than finding a spider web with your face.

My new resume.

Objective: To get a fucking job. Are you a Pediatric Dentist? I can restrain those bastards. Are you a Periodontist? I can help scrape that shit off. Are you an Oral Surgeon? I will remove their nasty sutures. Are you a Prosthodontist?  I would be more than happy to gag your patients with impressions. Are you an Endodontist? Well you're in luck because I love not sleeping.   

Education and Certifications:

• Ohio Radiology Certification: Have someone that needs cancer? I can provide that shit.
• Arrhythmia recognition: Some fat ass patient going into SVT? I can point it out.
• Ohio CPR Certification: I can also revive your stupid patients.
• Chair side assisting: I know how to work sharp objects.
• The Safe and Effective use of Radiation in Dental Practice: So I don’t give everyone AIDS.       
• Medical Transcription: I can type really fucking fast.

I LOVE PUTTING A LOAN ON MY CAR TO GO TO SCHOOL AND NOT BEING ABLE TO FIND A JOB! I think this one has potential though.

Satiate.

Most of the time my thoughts are aimless, but they often lead back to connecting the dots of my future. Do you fear the unknown as I do? It slithers and coils around your mind leaving you helpless to wandering ideas. Countless scenarios replay over and over until you can no longer tolerate consciousness. Certain unnamed variables make me unsettled and restless. I cannot relax until everything is laid out before me like a medieval feast.

I want to crawl back into your sanctuary. Slip back into blind trust and forget the outside world exists. As comfortable as you may seem, the very thought of you makes me want to mark my territory like a wolf. Never in my life have I feared so much based on so little. As impermeable as I make myself out to be truthfully I am weak and human. I have illogical desires, simple thoughts, and animalistic needs. I wish I was more like you because things would be easier to process.

I want it more than you do. I want many things more than you do, and that’s disheartening and dampers my spirit. These meager portions you provide cannot satisfy my ravenous appetite. All I require is stability, and in times of famine the desire will never vanish. All I can do is hope things move in the direction I want them to. It's too bad hope is often the last card a fool has to play.

______________________________________________________________

April always creeps up on me each year and leaves pieces of me scattered amongst the weeds. It is beautiful yet merciless when it has to be. This April did not differ from the ones of previous years. I cannot piece you back together so I will use words to sew the holes shut.

You are not here and I am left with the horrors that plague my mind when I close my eyes. The regret I feel for not being a better person when you were around. The anger I feel when I realize I’m left with people in my family to whom I cannot relate, and yet the one person who understood me is no longer here. I try to remember the good but as I get older it becomes harder to remember. I’m just stuck with the heroin overdoses and blood. Now your brother is walking your path and we know where this path ends. Drugs and firearms will be the end of what’s left of our family.

It seems each year my network of close friends and family gets smaller. I live with the reality that assholes are immortal and babies die. People are tortured for taking different paths and left without tongues. Their bodies are dragged on foreign ground and all recognizable features dissipate. For this I integrate my walls with steel and barricade the doors from all of you.

Amygdala.

She glances down at my near empty beverage then at me with this expression that would send chills down the common man. Fortunately for her I am not the common man, so her contempt does not influence her tip. She’s young and hasn’t mastered the ability to mask her true emotions. I would say her problem is that she has them in the first place but I would be lying in saying that I feel nothing. I do feel varying degrees of rage and hatred. I wake up with a fire in my heart and I can focus that fire on you at any time. My rage does not discriminate nor does it reason.

I secretly await the chaos that a catastrophe would bring, but not the temporary events--the real deal. The day oil production becomes too costly, or a massive world war over food, water, or basic daily essentials. This is the day I will reveal my true nature without hesitation. I will rise from the anarchy and take rein of the remaining scavengers who have a taste for blood. My unjust horror will quickly sweep over the land.

Sighing she grabs my empty glass and leaves to fill it with my favorite caffeinated drink. The mindless hum of the conversations from the establishment lure me to somewhere else. They take me to a place in the near future: a future filled with promise and adventure. This future does not contain morals or a respect for ones general well being, especially yours.

Your ability to reason will be confounded with my unpredictable behavior. The admirable can suffer the same fate as the fiends next door. The miles of cities burnt and necks gashed open will tell my story. You will know where I have been from the trails of bowel I leave behind. When you meet me that fateful day my eyes will tell you everything you need to know.

I am the monster that everyone talks about at the local watering hole. “Did you hear about the recent killing? His head was severed and mounted on a broken shovel outside of his house. What sort of animal would do such a thing?” Me, you motherfucker! Suddenly she snaps me back to reality and I know she could tell I was daydreaming.

“Are you going to order something or not?” she asks while chewing gum loudly.
“Yes sorry,” I respond, “I’ll have the blackened chicken with a side of mixed vegetables.”

Blameless.

The personal baggage I drag down the road stinks like a corpse rotting at the peak of summer. I cannot avoid it and it is becoming harder to lug around as time passes. When the weight becomes unbearable I can understand why people falter. The burden pulls the flesh off the bone and leaves you breathless. It's not as if you can just toss it aside or pass it off to someone else. You can't forget so you just keep moving.

Regardless of what you think we are the ones who decide our fate. We cast the stone into our lives and it will forever make ripples. You pull the trigger, drive away, but the bloodstains never leave you. You live with the undertow from this event everyday. How amusing it is when you to curse the stars for your misfortune. In the end no one gives a damn. No one is going to pity you for your bad genes or poor environment so it is always in your best interest to shut your mouth.

I may be the only person alive who actually looks forward to old age. I want to get dementia and forget my name. Forget what you've done, and what I have done. To be able to sit down and relax with no thoughts filled with hatred or sadness. No regrets--nothing horrible. The only downfall is that I'll also have nothing beautiful.

It's best to picture your life as an intermediate point between good and bad. That way if you fail you don't stumble too far, and you constantly have somewhere to advance. There will always be someone who is better looking just like there will be someone more foolish.

Nothing.

On occasion I try to purify my mind with masochism. People ask, "Why do you keep putting your hand in the fire?" Because it feels so good when I stop. We all do it from time to time. Bloodlust takes over and we swing wildly in attempt to grasp bits of glass. The more we know the more we crush ourselves. Beat the information into our skulls until we bleed and lay hopeless in the midday sun. Eventually we heal and start the process all over again. Humans are gluttons for pain and self abuse.

The night sky has a way of pacifying even the largest of egos. We are nothing but particles of sand in an infinite desert.  I am neither rare nor memorable. I am not an anomaly. How I so desire to be an exception to the rule! In a sea of beautiful women I want to be the one you see when you close your eyes. I need to resonate in your mind after a hundred years. The sensible, logical part of me realizes the fallacy and my happiness is spent. The truth cuts deep and takes no prisoners.